Deception
by Owliet
Summary: Gincentric — "Ya heard me, loud an' clear, Aizen-sama; yer goin' ta die, whether or not ya have that power ya were lookin' fer or not," he laughed, arms outstretched and free of the useless baggage of hatred and responsibility and need and want.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own Bleach.  
**Warnings:** Language, implied sex, and other things.

**A/N:** Started writing this when the "Deicide" chapters began, and then stopped until 414 came out and refined it. Just a tad. Enjoy.

* * *

**Deception  
**_Oh, what tangled webs we weave.

* * *

_

If there was anything that he could say about himself that _he_ could believe was true, it was that he was a man of inscrutable taste.

Of them all, he would have to say that he liked the innocent ones best—the way they would squirm in his grasp, eyes wide and faces slick with sweat as they begged him to let them go. Fingers and hands clawing uselessly at his wrists, occasionally drawing a minute amount of blood that would collect and dry beneath fingernails. Sometimes he would bound them tight so they couldn't fight back, but he was a man that reveled in the delicious thrill of a challenge, so sometimes he would let them have a chance to escape. Intentionally give them that chance to get up and run; but then he would take it from them the instant they were out of sight. Then there would be the slightest movement on his part, and his _prey_ would be on its back, eyes wide with fright, and a familiar fear contorting the face.

_Ah_, those were always the best. The way they wailed and moaned, completely and utterly unused to the cruelty and pain that accompanied him wherever, and whenever, he went. Their tears and pleas fell on dead as ears as he would go about his business, carving up the delicate bodies until there was nothing left but a river of blood, and a singular bright, quivering light pulsating in a mass of spilled entrails. He would lean over and pluck that light from its attempts at remaining there, where it was supposed to be whole and living, and bring it up to his lips where he would whisper sweet nothings to it for a brief moment of insanity—and then he would part his thin, pale lips just a smidge.

His pink tongue would slide out, and he would place the light on the muscle. And then he would lean back and revel in the feel of the slippery, frightened thing sliding down his throat, and shudder in delight when the wails started up again from deep, deep inside.

_Oh_, how he enjoyed the innocent ones, but how he enjoyed the rare treat of someone that _knew_, even in the slightest, of what was bottled up inside his scrawny prison of flesh. Of those enthralling moments when somehow, somehow, there would be just a tiny flicker in his piteous, dead heart.

He had just been about to enjoy a rather blackened treat, full of rage, spite, and astonishment when he met one of _those_. It had been a simple meeting, where and when he met a man with an all knowing smile despite the fact that he _didn't know_. Deprived of a meal, but offered up a new, more challenging experience—but all the more tantalizing in the end, he accepted what offers and lies came his way. He took the promises of deciet, of physical pain, and inevitable, unfailing death with a sharp smile. Because in the end, the two of them could play equally on the playing field.

It was thralling, simply intoxicating, to watch that man work his intricate web of lies about everyone around him; his pawns, his knights, his bishops, and the rest of the pieces, all the while never using the most important: the king and the queen. An amazing game it turned out to be, people dying left and right, madness and twists and turns.

But in all of this, the only one he aimed for was a man trying to be God.

He found he wasn't interested when the lovely Rangiku offered herself up for the taking, oh _no, no, no,_ he hadn't even been phased. Brushed right over her offer of sweetness and guile, taken only by a rich, flavorful smell of arrogance, laced with potentional bitter, bitter resentment. He hadn't even blinked when raw, only needing to be steered in a direction he so choosed, potential snacks cropped all around his ever present grin. Oh, sure—he took nibbles and tastes, but in the end, they couldn't compare to the man trying to be God.

Couldn't even compare to the thrill and flicker and flash in his unmoving heart when he was even near such an extrodinary treat.

"Gin," his name rolled off the man's tongue in a thick, cloying way that made _him_ want to shudder and sob prostrate at the would-be-God's feet, neck bared in way of submission and loyalty. And he would have, if he were a lesser man, "We'll rebuild this dying world, this place of weak things and mindlessness, won't we?"

A large, warm hand reached out and clasped his chin, forcing him—for all _that_ was worth—to finally look at the face of the man, the man, his _prey_, for the first time that night. His delicious, long awaited _prey_ regarded him with half-lidded eyes, and a steady growing, damnable smirk that was nothing more than an upward quirk of lips. His _prey_ was looking him up and down as if _he_ were the prey in this scheme as he replied after a moment's breath of intentional hesitation, "Yes, Aizen-_sama_."

When he was forcibly pulled in the man's direction, he lost focus for one, brief moment when a hand behind his head steered him in _correct_ direction. He was still smiling even when his palms struck the cold, merciless floor on either side of the man's seat in the otherwise empty room, legs splayed out awkwardly beneath him, and his face was just a breath away from the man's crotch. _Decisions, decisions_, he mused silently, glancing up at the stoic man's face which was coated with more than just a touch of arrogance. Languidly he moved as to attend to what the man wanted him to, but instead made to get up. He was stopped short by the source of constant warmth on the back of his head, tangled up in his hair.

"Where are you going, Gin?" His _prey_ was fond of saying his name, as if it had some mysterious power over him, when it was naught but one of many.

"Well, Ah was tinkin' dat sittin' like dis is rather uncomfertable," he was calm and unbothered by the entire situation, after all, wasn't _he_ the one that did worse than this? The unthinkable, the unimaginable, the _true_ wrongdoings were _all_ his.

"Nonsense," Aizen admonished, grip tightening around the silver hair in his hands, expression and posture full of unconcealed mirth. _That's why_—"This is fine, is it not, Gin?" —_you'll never win, Aizen-_sama.

"Yes, Aizen-_sama_," he breathed out, feigning some unknown, tingling emotion as he undid the would-be-God's pants revealing one of many of man's downfalls. He watched with slitted eyes as his _prey_ tossed back his head in ecstasy as _he_ did _nothing_ to the quivering, warm _thing_ before him.

His fingers never touched the hot flesh.

His mouth never parted with a _pop_.

His tongue remained where it was in his mouth.

God was smitten with his own illusion; an illusion of his mind, crafted by his heart, and brought into motion by a mere thought.

The pathetic (oh, to use that word) display dragged on for minutes, the man moaning and writhing from his delusions of grandeur and pomp. This only brought a smile to his lips when the man began to make conversation, voice thick and rich with human passions, but free of needy, animal sounds, "It's not so bad, is it, Gin? Gin. Gin."

"Aye, it's nah bad at all, nah bad at all," his own tone was beautifully crafted into something cheerful, clouded over with apparent lust—nonexistent as the man continued to be pleasured by his mind. The grip on the back of his head had long since gone, and he had leaned back and watched with little amusement on his features. A dead, unfeeling creature.

"We'll make those fools _bow_ to us," came the following snarl. _Us? Us? We? Oh, now._

"Of course, of course."

Then all of the sudden, but not really so, he was on his back, head rolled back and arms widespread, focused only on the dark, lonely corner. He licked his lips in habit as it became cold down below and all but ignored the pain of his ass as the would-be-God moved as he ranted on. Words stumbled and poured out from those lips as he watched the corner, detecting but the faintest movements of a spider weaving its web; waiting for the inevitable meal to come along and tangle itself deeper into the trap.

Waiting. Waiting for the _right_, opportune moment when the meal would be the tastiest. The peak of taste, cultivated for years on end—

"...and it will be _good_...!"

—of playing the hapless betrayer, in love with the idea of being the _one_ to kill the wonderful-almighty—

"...all of those fools will..."

—Aizen.

"Aizen," his voice was oddly crisp, clear and dead.

"Hmmm...?" Aizen sounded lost in whatever delusion he was currently toying with in his mind; perhaps it was of _him_ being a submissive whore, or of Aizen finally figuring out what exactly he was beneath the mask. And then turning him into his own personal whore.

A pregnant pause later, and he breathed out, speech lacking its odd quirks, "All good things come to an end."

"_What_?"

"Ya heard me, loud an' clear, Aizen-_sama_; yer goin' ta die, whether or not ya have that power ya were lookin' fer or not," he laughed, arms outstretched and free, free, free of the useless baggage of hatred and responsibility and need and want.

The world was a smooth plane of whiteness, all around and all encompassing, broken by only a few ever-present figures in the recent history: one, stupid shinigami boy, one would-be-God, and one dead man. It was silent as those forced to watch on the sidelines leaned forward in sheer amazement at the peculiar, and wholeheartedly unexpected scene.

The betrayer being betrayed by his fellow? Who would have guessed that such a loyal would man would do such a thing?

He approached the stunned, bleeding man in slow, languid movements; smile growing sharper with each passing centimeter. As he loomed over his delicious, long awaited prey, he began to speak in much the same manner as Aizen often did, lost in thought, but this was entirely mocking.

"Imagine me surprise when such a delicacy as yerself waltzes right into me hands," he held no malice in his tone, no hatred, no disgusting, no nothing, "An' den dis opportunity comes 'round. Once every thousand-er-so years, I say, someone who can guess comes alongs. One in a million's the chance we cross paths. But ya take the initiative, and ya do meet me."

"I_ knew _you would betray me, Gin, I've—"

"Ya 'ave 'prepared', prepared a plan, oh a plan! And wha' might tha' plan be? Ta do ta me wha' Ah've done ter ya?"

"I _will become God!_"

Desperate and frantic, now, evident in the way the shinigami boy took one step forward to his target, yet still wary of the creature taunting it's prey for a final time.

Gin's smile stretched wide and he snarled as he dug his blade into the tiny, black thing burning in Aizen's chest, twisting and pulling the black orb out with a painful squelch. He brought the black sphere to his lips and cracked a wry grin, before tossing it bringing it to his lips and swallowing. As it sunk to his stomach a chill descended upon his body, heart flickering once, twice, thrice, before going back to its cold state.

Aizen remained frozen, face blank with a slight ashen color to it as Gin's fingers curled around his throat. Thin, bony fingers that tightened and would not move no matter how much he gripped at them in an action more befitting a man than a God. Fingers which sliced through his neck like knives, and wormed their way downward to a place near his heart.

And when those cold, cold fingers grasped and tugged something that felt damn well important, he almost fell to being a man once more and crying out, but he remained strong. Even as that vital, vital thing was dragged from his chest. Plucked out and in the open, the flickering, handsome glob of light stood proud and fearless even in the face of a colorless monstrosity.

With a smile and a final whisper that brought shock and horror to all those faces, He ate.

* * *

**A/N; **Now I get to ruin the magic by explaining what exactly I'm sort-of getting at. Which is that Gin is a soul-eating, soulless, son-of-a-bitch Devil. Which is why he has no emotions, no heart, and can go around doing whatever the hell he wants. Because, _yes,_ why the hell not? And also because it would be total, perfect plothax/troll by Kubo if Gin is suddenly the King o' Hell. Which in itself would be a _yes_!

Or because if this is how Aizen ends it, how will my dream of them going to see the Shinigami King, be shocked when he's looks like Aizen and Aizen is just some poor, misguided clone from a bet between King-man, and the Gin-Devil, come to pass? D:


End file.
